Lights that Cross
by magicaltragical
Summary: Five years after his family moves to Philadelphia, an unexpected visitor from his Dillon days turns up on Coach Taylor's doorstep. Hatchets are buried.


This rather lengthy one-shot is my first Friday Night Lights story. Enjoy!

June 16, 2016

A rare Monday off for Eric Taylor, and he is taking advantage of the peaceful quiet that surrounds his family's suburban Pennsylvania home. It's one of those get-everything-done-you've-been-meaning-to-do-for-months kind of days that has him staining the fence, cleaning the gutters, doing long-overdue yard work - all that kind of crap. With Tami at work and Gracie at whatever the hell summer day camp it is that she's in, there is nothing to distract him.

He's on his knees, wiping the sweat off his forehead. It's like he told Tami this morning - if they would just keep up with the weeding, he wouldn't need to spend an entire morning doing all of it at once. But that would never work. They're both too busy. Eric smiles a little. He guesses that's what happens when spouses are both at this point in their lives. Their careers are pretty solid and it keeps them both from having much extra time for things like this.

Maybe it's time for a water break. It wasn't long ago when he could do all of this without being exhausted halfway through, but he's not as young as he used to be. At least that's what Tami likes to tell him lately. And then he reminds her that she's a year older than he is. And she slaps his arm playfully. He loves that.

He climbs up the small set of stairs to their covered porch. He and Tami have so far enjoyed many evenings out here since they moved to Philadelphia five years ago, sipping wine and sharing details of their day with each other.

It took him awhile to get used to living in the Northeast after being a Texas man his whole life. It was a strange, foreign land to him and his initial reaction wasn't exactly a positive one. He hated the cold and the snow (actually, he _still_ hates that part of Pennsylvania), he hated big city traffic, and he hated how nobody knows anybody. Everyone only seems to care about their own business.

Worst of all, no one cares about high school football. There was no community spirit to it. Sure, he loved his boys here as much as he loved them in Dillon, but they weren't the problem. The problem was that the whole town doesn't pile into the stadium on Friday nights.

But after a while, he grew to appreciate being out of the spotlight a little bit. There may not have been the same magic of community spirit that he'd been used to, but there also wasn't the crap that came with it. Town politics play virtually no part in high school football here. His first season here wasn't relatively successful - no playoffs, a barely-winning record of 6-5 - but never once did anyone threaten to fire him. In fact, since his players liked him well enough, and the parents that he dealt with had found him pleasant and knowledgeable enough, that was sufficient for the school and the district and even the boosters. Especially since 6-5 was still an improvement for the Pioneers (which also, _Pioneers_? Eric still wants to know . . . what the hell kind of mascot is that?) It was so much more carefree here in that regard.

He shoves a glass towards the water dispenser in the refrigerator, hits the button for ice, and nothing happens. Damn ice maker. It hasn't worked quite right for a couple of years now. Eric mentally adds that to his ever-growing list of things that he needs to deal with. Eventually.

The doorbell rings, and Eric is tempted to just not answer it. It's probably some kids doing a door-to-door fundraiser for whatever sport or organization, hell if he knows. In the middle of the day on a Monday in the summer, it's not likely to be anything important. He sits for a moment, drinking his ice-less water, not making any move towards the door.

It rings again. Eric rolls his eyes. His old blue Ford Explorer that he's had forever is parked in the driveway, so whoever's there would know he's home. Any of his neighbors at least would know he's home. They all know that car. Tami's tried to convince him to upgrade ever since they left Texas, but Eric can't stand the thought of getting rid of that car. His trusty old Ford. He's had that thing damn near fifteen years now, since Julie was just a kid. And it still runs great (after replacing some parts here and there over the years) so why would he need to replace it?

He sets his glass down. Leaving the kitchen, he enters the living room, going around the stairs to the front door. He has to admit; he likes their old colonial-style house. It's small for a colonial - but still much bigger than anything they've owned before - and it's on a nice quiet street with a lot of nice trees, it's just far enough from downtown Philly that he doesn't have to deal with all of that big-city nonsense when he's at home, and it has a great backyard. It sure made team barbeques less stressful for everyone back when he was at Pemberton (although Tami still hates them).

At the base of the stairs, he stands at the front door. Eric opens it, and at first he can't quite place where he knows the face of the young man in front of him.

"Coach Taylor," the kid's voice is small and nervous. He pulls a navy-blue baseball cap off his head, revealing disheveled light brown hair. Eric regards him for a moment, realization crashing over him quickly like a tidal wave.

He doesn't say anything. Instead he stares at the kid, a little confused about why he's seeing what he's seeing.

The young man averts his gaze. "Sorry, um . . . " he trails off.

Eric blinks away in surprise. "JD McCoy. I'll be damned," he says softly.

JD laughs nervously. Eric furrows his brow. He hasn't seen this kid in what, like five years? Six? Not since his East Dillon Lions defeated the Dillon Panthers that first time. After that, JD and his father Joe McCoy (Smilin' Joe, as Buddy Garrity used to like to call him) fell off the radar. Eric remembers them leaving Dillon a couple months later, after the fall semester was over.

"Yeah, uh, I'm sorry to just drop in on you like this, Coach, but, uh, do - do you have a moment to talk?"

For a moment, he just blinks at the kid in front of him. JD and his father - well, to be fair it was mostly just his father - had been a major thorn in his side a few years ago. He hasn't thought about all that drama crap that happened in quite a long time now. Being fired from Dillon, being exiled to East Dillon - it's so irrelevant now that he's been in Philadelphia for several years now.

On the one hand, the way the Panthers and the boosters (except for Buddy Garrity, of all people, who had always remained strangely loyal to Eric) and - hell, pretty much everyone in Dillon - had treated him while Joe was around, still brought out a wisp of bitterness in Eric even after all this time. He hates that. He hasn't even thought about the McCoys in probably a few years. They're irrelevant at this point.

But on the other hand, going to East Dillon is probably one of the best things that ever happened to Eric. Building up a team from dirt (literally - that's what the field was when he first started - just _dirt_ ) and molding it into a State Champion team in just two years was by far his proudest accomplishment. He wouldn't trade those two seasons with the Lions for anything.

In Pennsylvania, Eric's claim to fame here was taking the Pioneers from bottom of their league to a playoff run in two seasons. And then a state championship the year after that, in his final season of coaching at the high school level. It was a perfect way to finish. He'd loved his run with the Pioneers, but damn, that Lions team had been something special.

So seeing JD McCoy on his doorstep after all this time . . . well, it's strange. What is he doing here? What does he want? Damn, it's been a long time. Six years ago, hell. Time flies.

"Uhh . . . yeah," Eric stammers. He moves out of the way of the door to usher the kid in. "Why don't you come on in?"

JD sighs, probably in relief. As Eric stands with his back to the open door, JD slowly trudges past him into the house.

"Come on back to the kitchen," Eric instructs him. JD stops and waits for Eric to show him the way. He hears the kid following him as he makes his way back across the dining room and through the doorway into the kitchen. His abandoned glass of water from a few moments ago awaits his return on the kitchen's island counter.

"Something to drink?" Eric offers stiffly.

JD shakes his head. "Um, nah. No . . . no thank you, Coach."

Eric takes a sip of his water and watches JD. The kid seems nervous and unsure of himself. Not at all like he was when Eric last saw him. Back then, the kid was a high school sophomore. And like any other kid who became a Texas high school football superstar, JD had grown a little . . . well, _overly self-confident._ It happened to a lot of kids, Eric remembers. With kids like Smash Williams, it was mostly harmless and even mildly amusing. But in JD's case, it seemed a little much. No thanks to his father, who made sure to turn the Dillon Panthers that season into his son's own personal practice squad. Joe McCoy had his own lackey hired as the head coach for Pete's sake. Eric can't exactly blame JD for growing a little arrogant. His father had everyone who had anything to do with the Panthers catering to his every whim.

And JD had also barely finished puberty. It's a stark contrast to the young man in Eric's kitchen now. He's quite a bit taller now, Eric notes. A little more filled out. Eric remembers telling JD early on to bulk up with some chicken-fried steak, but that certainly would not be necessary now. Makes sense. He's a full-formed adult now, probably in his early twenties.

JD is hovering near the barstools at the island. Tami loves this kitchen. There's actual counter space here, unlike their house in Dillon. Eric loves it too. Sometimes he cooks breakfast for the family, and the extra space is really helpful.

"Go on, have a seat," Eric tells the kid.

JD nods, sighs, and takes a seat in the barstool on the end. Eric is standing on the other side of the island, watching him. He's staring intently at the glossy, fake-wood countertop. That's another thing they've been meaning to do - for some reason the main countertops were this nice-looking granite, but the island was an ugly wood-colored laminate. One of these days they'll replace the island to match the rest.

"So, um, you're uh . . . you're probably wondering why I'm here . . . " JD's voice trails off in uncertainty.

Eric frowns. "Well . . . yeah."

"Yeah," JD whispers. "Well, uh, as it turns out I live over in New Jersey now. I was over here in Philly this weekend to visit a buddy from college, and I know you're the offensive coordinator over at Temple now. And I thought at some point I just needed to come by and, uh . . . well."

JD's pause here is so long that Eric raises an eyebrow and is about to prompt him to continue, but JD gathers himself and speaks again.

And he speaks in such a rush that Eric struggles a bit to keep up. "I wanted to just stop by and tell you that I'm really sorry. About everything that went down when I was in high school back in Dillon. The way my dad and I treated you and your family was really unfair. And I know that because of us you lost your job and that really sucked and everything. And I just want you to know that I'm really sorry."

Eric's not too sure what he was expecting, but he's definitely taken by surprise here. Not just by what's happening, but also with the downright comically fast pace at which JD speaks. It's clear that the kid planned out what he was going to say, but he got nervous and just got the words out as quickly as he could to get it over with.

He clears his throat beforehand to gather himself. "Well . . ." he pauses, reaching around to rub the back of his neck, "um, well that's - that's fine, son." He clears his throat a second time and looks JD in the eye. "You _were_ just a kid at the time, you know that."

It's true. Eric never blamed JD for anything that had happened. What was the kid supposed to do? Turn against his own father? Any kid would have a hard time doing that.

"I know, but . . ." JD trails off. "I'm still sorry."

More than anything else here, Eric just wants to know the series of events that led JD to show up at his house. The McCoys moved on from Dillon, the Taylors moved on from Dillon . . . anything that had gone down all those years ago in Dillon just doesn't seem to matter now, at least to the Taylors it didn't.

"Well, alright." Eric isn't sure what to say. "I appreciate that son, but, uh . . . "

He doesn't bother to finish. He eyes JD closely.

Suddenly, the kid looks a little alarmed. "Coach, I completely understand if you hold anything against me or my family. What we did, and especially what my dad did to you, is unforgiveable. I know that. I just -"

"Son, let me tell you something," Eric interrupts tersely. He leans forward to lean with his forearms on the counter, wincing as he hits a cookie sheet sticking out a little ways from the shelf below with his knee. There really should be cabinet doors there. He blinks for a moment to refocus his thoughts.

"I promise you, you don't have to be sorry over anything, not after all this time. You were just a kid back then, and I would never hold any of that against you. And anything that happened between your family and mine all those years ago has no effect on where I'm at now. We moved to Philadelphia because my wife got a job here. And we're doing pretty damn well here. And I'll tell you . . . I also consider coaching the East Dillon Lions all the way to a state championship to be one of the most rewarding experience of my career. So why would I be holding a grudge against ya'll when me being fired from the Panthers don't mean anything now?" He smiles a little, hoping to put the kid at ease.

JD sighs and cautions a small smile. "I'm glad. I'm glad you're doing well, Coach. I guess it's probably weird that I just showed up and all, but I don't know. I mean, I knew you guys were here and since I've been in Jersey it's been on mind a little bit. And I'm just . . . well, I'm just trying to do better about taking responsibility for things. I'm sorry about barging in on you."

"Well there's nothing wrong with taking responsibility for yourself, son," Eric reassures him. He looks down, and tucks the stray cookie sheet towards the back of the shelf with his knee. "That's a good thing. Shows maturity. And I sincerely hope that things have worked out for you since ya'll left Dillon."

JD smiles bigger now. "I would say it has. Definitely not the way I imagined it would growing up, but I would say it has."

Eric doesn't say anything; he just nods.

"I mean, everyone thought I was going to be this big football star," JD continues, "but I haven't played at all since Dillon."

Eric raises an eyebrow. He figured the kid hadn't gone on to play college ball. If he had, Eric certainly would have heard about him. Even if he'd gone to a school in a lower division. "You quit?"

JD nods. "Yeah, I did. I'm actually a baseball player now."

"Huh," Eric half-grunts, half laughs. "Baseball?" He leans back on the counter space behind him between the refrigerator and the stove, folding his arms.

"Yeah," JD laughs. "It's kind of a long story how that ended up happening, but yeah. Baseball."

Well he must say; he _is_ genuinely curious where life has taken the boy over the past six years. He eyes the kid for a moment, and then he shrugs.

"You sure you don't want something to drink?"

"Um, well . . . I guess maybe a glass of water would be nice." JD's hands are fidgeting nervously; his fingers are interlocked and he's sliding them back and forth.

Eric grunts as he pushes off the kitchen counter and stands up straight. He turns around and reaches up to grab a glass from the cabinet. While his back is turned to JD, he casually inquires, "So. Baseball?"

JD doesn't speak for a moment, while Eric puts the glass up to the ice dispenser before remembering that it was broken. He shakes his head. Damn thing. Then he turns to look at the kid with raised eyebrows, waiting for him to say something.

"Yeah. Um, well, like I said, that's a really long story," JD eventually says again.

Eric looks at him for another brief moment, and then he turns to go to the sink to fill the glass. "I heard you," he says while he has his back to JD.

"Um . . . okay. Yeah. Well, you know how my father got kind of . . . I mean, you know how he really placed a lot of pressure on me my freshman year, the year you were still with the Panthers?"

Eric purses his lips and nods slowly while he sets the glass down in front of JD. Yeah, he remembers. Especially if by _pressure_ the kid means that Joe McCoy beat his own son up in the parking lot of the Applebee's. JD whispers a quiet "thank you" and then he continues.

"Remember the state championship, where I fell apart and played horribly, and you benched me at halftime and put Matt Saracen in?"

Again, Eric nods. He remembers for sure. He remembers how not only did everything with the McCoys serve as his own source of stress, but also how it had driven a wedge between him and Matt Saracen. He remembers being almost relieved when he was given a good reason to let Matt finish the state championship and how satisfying it had been when the Panthers nearly achieved an incredible come-from-behind victory once the game had been put in Matt's hands.

But then again, the football-related tension between him and Matt is now water under the bridge in a major way. Matt's now married to his daughter. He'd been pissed about that one for awhile because Matt and Julie are so young, but they're both out of college and starting careers in Chicago and doing pretty well. The protective father in him will never let him admit it out loud, but he's overjoyed that Matt ended up being so good for her. Julie went off to college after high school and quickly showed that she clearly had a lot of growing up to do, so Eric and Tami had flipped when she immediately turned around and got engaged to Matt out of what sure seemed to them like nowhere. But it turns out the subsequent move to Chicago was exactly what she had needed to grow up. He's proud of both of them, and Matt's becoming like a son to him once again.

"I actually had a really good moment with my dad right then," JD is saying. "After halftime, I stayed in the locker room because I was really upset. My dad came in, and I thought he was gonna be really pissed at me, but he was surprisingly understanding. He told me that it was okay, that I still had opportunities left, and that the best thing I could do at that point was to finish the game, even if it was just sitting on the bench with my team and supporting them."

Well, Eric thinks, at least that jackass had _some_ shred of decency. At least towards his own son, which he supposes is where it probably matters the most.

"After that, I think Dad decided to stop putting all the pressure on me and decided to put it on everyone else, like you and the boosters." The kid sighs. His eyes are sad. "But you didn't let yourself be bought. Unfortunately, the boosters did, though, so my dad had a relatively easy time replacing you with Coach Aikman. And Coach, I just want to say . . . I know that you lost your job and had to go to East Dillon where no one really cared about you guys and all, but I really respect you for not letting my dad bully you into doing what he wanted. I respect you for putting your principles above your career like that. I may not have respected you much back then, but I was young and stupid."

Eric nods slowly and thoughtfully. He runs a hand through his already messy hair as he realizes that he never really thought about it quite like that, as prioritizing principles above his job.

"I appreciate that," he mutters in response. He just didn't like Joe trying to strong-arm him into changing his coaching strategies using his money and power. It pissed him off. Tami told him, though, right before his contract negotiation that spring, not to let his pride get in the way. He smiles a little, because JD just put a much more positive spin on his actions all those years ago than how he or Tami had really thought of it.

"But for that spring and summer, especially after Coach Aikman got the job, things were really good with me and my dad. For the first time in a long time, you know. He loosened the reins on me a lot. I finally got to have a social life, and I had a girlfriend. And I think my dad having more respect for me made me feel good enough about myself that I think I let it all go to my head. I know I got pretty arrogant. It's no wonder Luke Cafferty dumped me a like a hot rock after like two seconds at East Dillon. I was such a jackass to him."

Eric just nods again, with a little amusement. Damn, he doesn't think he ever heard JD talk this much the whole season he coached him. Maybe this is cathartic for the kid or whatever the hell.

"And there was a lot of buildup that summer. The Panthers were so heavily favored to win State. And I was set to be the star of the team. I know let all of it go to my head. So I was suddenly the big high school football star that everyone loved. Between my dad, and the kids at school and the town and everything, it got to be all about me and I enjoyed it. But then after the school year got started, things weren't so great between my mom and my dad anymore and they decided to split up. I was pissed at them. I felt like everything had finally gotten perfect and then they were ruining it."

Eric remembers when the McCoys split up. Hearing about it drove Tami to press him for a date night to make sure the romance was still alive. And of course, he was happy to oblige . . . once they both found the time. Boy, would they ever stop being so busy all the damn time? It seems like they still are.

In all honesty, though, Eric knows that it doesn't matter if they seem like they're too busy. It's better when they're both busy than when just one of them is. He learned that when they first moved here. The hard way.

The culture shock of Philadelphia was nearly too much for Eric at first, but he sucked it up because Tami loved it right off the bat. And it was for her that they were here. It was for her that he gave up everything he knew. But him? Coaching football at first seemed almost too easy, since it didn't have the same intensity that it did in Texas. He had too much time on his hands. He was at a loss at first, unsure of his place here. Like a fish out of water or something. But not Tami. Tami flourished in her new job, as he knew she would, and sometimes he wondered if it even mattered to her that he was struggling. Or if she even noticed, because she was always busy. They fought a lot the first year they were here. Eric feels it was the roughest time in their whole marriage.

He now knows she tried to understand, but he didn't quite have the words to communicate to her why he was so frustrated here. It wasn't that she didn't care, it was that his normally very perceptive wife was so busy that she didn't quite see what was going on with him.

But they are Eric and Tami Taylor, and he'll be damned if they didn't find a way through it. He knows that the marriage pulled through because he figured his own things out. The marriage went through a rough patch because _he_ went through a rough patch. When he found new ways to challenge himself in his own career, he feels he improved as a person and so did things with him and Tami.

JD sips idly at his water for a moment before continuing. "My mom left around the end of September that year, and went to live near her sister who lives up in Madison, Wisconsin. I know she saw what the whole football thing was doing to me, and she saw that it was making me just like my dad, so she tried really hard to get me to go with her. I didn't want to. Giving up football and the Panthers to live in Wisconsin didn't even feel like a conceivable option to me. And my dad wasn't about to let me give it up, either. I'm pretty sure he threatened some kind of legal action against her about custody arrangements or whatever. And my dad's got a lot of great lawyers. They'd already gotten him out of having to give her any money with the split. So she was suddenly not doing so great financially anymore, so it's not like she could afford good lawyers herself. So I got to stay in Texas with my dad."

Eric's not surprised. He knows that even though it was on record that Child Protective Services had been called specifically on Joe, there's nothing Katie McCoy could have done in any legal battle against her ex-husband. Joe McCoy is a powerful man with enough money to get anything he wants . . . Eric being exiled from the Panthers is a prime example.

"Anyway, you probably remember, Coach. The Panthers had a pretty good season that year, but so did Arnett Meade and so did Laribee. We were all in playoff contention and it came down to the last game for all of us. Anyone who lost that last game would be out of it. For us, of course, the last game was against you guys, so we thought we had it in the bag. Everyone did."

"Oh, yeah. I definitely remember," Eric acknowledges softly. He remembers that game well. He'd kept a lot of bitter feelings against the entire Panthers organization and against the school board bottled up that year, but they had started to leak out that week leading up to the first Lions vs Panthers game. Never had winning a game meant so much to him, except possibly the Lions state championship game the following year. Not even the state championship game here with the Pioneers. And that one _had_ certainly been important to him; it was the first time ever that Pemberton had won a state championship in football. It's what landed him on Temple's radar.

He never vocalized his angry desire to beat the crap out of the Panthers, not even to Tami, but he knew everyone around him could sense it in him. His players certainly knew it. Vince had even expressed his own concerns, as he'd seen how bad Eric wanted that game and he wasn't sure he'd be able to give it to him.

"And honestly, I don't know what to even say about that game," JD says. He sets his glass back down on the counter. For a moment he is silent, and the only sound is the hum of the refrigerator behind Eric, and someone is running a leaf blower in a nearby yard. Probably Adam McGronowitz next door. That guy has a sick obsession with having his yard be spotless.

"I don't know what happened. Maybe I just didn't have it that night. Maybe my own ego was so big by then that it just boiled over. I have no idea. I was so upset, though. And my dad was in shock or something for awhile. He didn't say a single word to me for like three days. And I'd been such an ass to most of my teammates and had been so big-headed all year and then I couldn't even get us to the playoffs. That was the first time in how many years that the Panthers didn't even go to the playoffs? Not sure. I know they made it all three seasons you were there. But then it was this whole thing, like me being so arrogant would have been okay if I was actually _that_ good, but it seemed that I wasn't."

Eric purses his lips and looks down at a coffee stain on the island's counter top from this morning that never quite got wiped up. What JD is saying about becoming over-confident and not living up to his own high standards is something he's seen so many times in his career. Kids who think they're a sure thing to go all the way to the NFL and then they end up tripping over their own, well, cockiness. He turns around to grab the dish towel that's hanging from the oven door behind him. _He_ was probably one of those overly-cocky players, in fact.

"And Coach, you know better than anyone how fickle people in Dillon were when it came to football. And how fast people will turn their backs on you if they don't like what you're doing."

As he focuses on wiping the coffee stain, Eric chuckles a little at JD's words. "Yes, I do," he declares softly. "They fired Coach Aikman pretty quick after that loss, too, didn't they?"

"Yep," JD affirms with a note of sadness. "He was out of a job by the end of the following week. And I felt bad about that, too. And also, people turned on my dad like immediately. Suddenly nobody trusted his football judgment. Because he'd spent two years making me out to be this really big deal, and then I didn't deliver. And he forced Coach Aikman on them and he didn't live up to expectations, either. I think my dad was more embarrassed even then me that you guys beat us, and that I was outplayed by a quarterback who'd never even really played before that season. So whatever peace my dad and I had reached between that first and second season in Dillon was pretty much gone. He jumped back on my ass after those three days of not talking to me, yelling at me about everything I did wrong. He sure made sure I knew about every mistake I made that night. Like I didn't already know."

Eric stops wiping at the coffee stain and sets down the towel, looking back up at JD. Neither of them spoke for a short moment, but something on JD's face makes Eric suddenly fear the worst. "Did he hurt you?"

JD shakes his head vigorously. "No! He didn't hit me again or anything. Even he knew how bad that would be after already getting in trouble for that once. But he just kinda went back to being really strict and overbearing like before. He told me that I was going to do nothing but train until the next season. He stressed that I was going to be a junior the following year, when recruiters would really start paying attention. And that I needed to get my act together. I guess he wasn't totally wrong. I'd been an ass to him, too, since my mom had left. You probably know this, but I had gotten so bad during that football season that once I got trouble in school and Mrs. Taylor gave me detention, and my dad backed her up on it even though I was going to be missing some practice."

Eric remembers. That's when she found out about the McCoys' split. And after months of war between Taylors vs McCoys, it had been a little shocking to Tami to have Joe side with her over anything. So JD _must_ have really been acting out pretty badly.

"But I guess over those next few weeks, I just started thinking a lot. I guess I had a lot of time for that, since other than working out I barely talked to my dad, and I didn't hang out with anybody from school, really. By the time Christmas Break rolled around, I was pretty miserable."

Having that kind of pressure put on you by an entire town, letting it go to your head, buckling under the pressure because of your own over-inflated ego, and then having everyone turn their backs on you is too much for most adults, but JD was 16 years old at the time. That's too much for a tenth-grade kid to deal with, in Eric's opinion.

He tosses the dishrag back towards the oven behind him. When he hears a light _plop_ coming from the floor, he turns and stares at the rag on the floor that didn't quite make it back to the top of the stove on the ground for a brief moment before turning back to JD.

Eric watches the kid take another long sip from his glass of water. He has to admit, although he never really did get to know the kid that well, he's a little bit proud to see how much this kid has matured since he last saw him. This young man here in his kitchen today is much more self-aware, confident, and talkative ( _damn_ talkative) than he had been six years ago.

JD sets the glass down and runs a hand through his grown out, slightly unruly hair. "I guess I decided I'd had enough of Texas high school football and of my dad and I started realizing what a jackass I'd been that year and it just felt like everyone hated me. So Christmas Eve. . . I just packed a suitcase, left a note to my dad saying that I was out and that I'd be back soon, and I snuck out and hopped in my truck and drove all the way to Wisconsin. I drove all night and I only stopped for gas and once at a McDonald's drive-through. I got to Madison at like noon on Christmas day. My mom's new house was this tiny old brick house on an old street in town, and it was weird, because when she was with my dad and had money, she liked fancy and extravagant things. And this house was so small. And it was pretty snowy there and when I pulled up to her house, she was outside shoveling the driveway. And it was such a weird image. I never in a million years thought I'd see _my_ mom shoveling snow." The kid chuckles, and Eric joins in. He remembers the first time he had to shovel the driveway here. It's still his least favorite household chore.

"That's definitely a surprise for any of us from Texas," Eric agrees with a small, knowing smile. "I _still_ hate the snow."

"I love the snow," JD tells him. "My mom lives in a different house now, but when I visit her during the winter I'm happy to shovel or whatever. I just love being out in the snow. That Christmas was really my first time spending time in it. My mom was shocked to see me, but she was really happy. She had plans to go to my aunt's house for Christmas dinner that night with my aunt's family, so we went there and my cousins there were eight and six years old, and they wanted me to go out and have a snowball fight with them. It was fun."

Eric smiles. He couldn't feel more opposite. Whenever it snows here, Gracie always wants to go outside and play in it. And she always wants him to come play with her when he's home. He does it with a smile on his face and has fun, because he loves his daughter, but he loathes how it makes him wet and cold. Only for his daughter is he willing to put himself through that. But to each his own, Eric supposes.

"What'd your dad do when he realized you were gone?" Eric wants to know. There's no way he would have just let it go when his son ran away to the opposite end of the damn country.

"Um, he was pissed. My mom figured he would be so she had me call him once I got to her house. He barely let me even speak at all when he answered the phone. He was yelling, telling me to get my ass back down to Dillon and how dare I run off like that . . . that sort of thing."

JD stops suddenly and chugs down the rest of his water. He sets his glass down but doesn't say anything right away. He fidgets, sticking his finger inside the rim of the glass and tracing around the circumference. More than a few seconds pass and JD doesn't speak. Eric doesn't say anything either; he's not sure he wants to know the specifics of JD's conversation with his father anyway. Something had clearly gone down.

JD looks up at Eric with mild surprise, almost as if he'd forgotten his former coach was even there. He finally continues. "I eventually just apologized but told him that I wanted to spend a few days with my mom since I was already there. He said okay, but I was really going to regret leaving when I got back. And by the middle of the next day, I had a good talk with my mom and told her why I decided to come see her out of the blue and how much I really wasn't looking forward to going back. So we decided that I should stay in Wisconsin with her. That if I decided I wanted to, I could play football there without all the pressure from my dad and from . . . like, all of Dillon. I could just play and have fun. So instead of me driving back the next week, my mom and I flew down to Dillon together to get the rest of my stuff."

Eric almost doesn't want to hear the next part of the story. He's again sure that Joe wouldn't have let that kid go without a fight. He's sure things got ugly. But he's been aware for most of the time that JD's been talking that the kid isn't just telling him how he got into baseball. He's talking about some stuff that he probably hasn't talked about in awhile and he's probably been keeping a lot of feelings about this stuff bottled up for awhile.

Eric is still surprised that JD turned up on his doorstep today and chose him to open up to, but he supposes he can oblige. He can be an ear to talk to. He's had to do that for his players more than a few times over the years.

"It got pretty ugly with him and my mom when we got there. They fought for like several hours straight about what they each thought was best for me. My dad . . . for as crappy a father as he can be, I know he was always just trying to do what he thought was best for me. Even if he obviously went more than just a little overboard. He was always just thinking about me and my future. That's probably why my mom didn't leave him sooner. She knew that everything he did was with my life in mind, but somewhere along the way it became less about me and more about what _he_ wanted me to do.

"And later my mom thought maybe it would be best if I sat down with my dad on my own and explained to him why I wanted to move to Wisconsin with her. So I did. I told him that I thought the pressure was messing with me. It was making me less good of a player and that maybe I would do better starting over somewhere else where nobody knew me. And of course he was just like, 'oh, JD, if you can't handle the pressure now, how the hell are you going to handle the pressure in college and the NFL?' I didn't really have a good answer for him."

"It's 'cause you were a kid," Eric says. "If you'd been allowed to develop as a player without that kind of pressure from not only the town, but also from your own father when you were just 16, you probably would have learned to handle it all just fine later on. You have to mature as a player first. If you ask me, that's what high school football should be about."

JD nods thoughtfully. "That makes a lot of sense. But I didn't think about it like that at the time. I just told him I didn't care. That I was miserable in Dillon since the Lions game. And that I wanted to go live with my mom. I'm not sure what made him give up trying to make me stay. I think he was just so pissed off that he just didn't want to deal with me anymore. He didn't speak to me the whole next four days I was there.

"So I packed up my stuff during that time into two suitcases and two boxes that my mom shipped to her house. And when my mom and I were leaving, the only thing my dad said to me when I was leaving the house was 'JD, you're making the biggest mistake of your entire life.' And that was it, I left."

Boy, that's rough. No kid deserves that kind of treatment from his father. Eric's heard of fathers acting that way before, and it always upsets him.

"And then he left Dillon too, soon after," Eric says. He doesn't remember hearing much about ol' Joe after that Christmas break.

"Well, yeah," JD tells him. "The only reason we were there in the first place was for me and football. He was managing his business in Dallas from Dillon. Once I wasn't there anymore, he moved back to Dallas."

"That's what I had thought," Eric says. "Couldn't quite remember, though."

"Yeah. I didn't talk to him much for awhile. I started school in Madison, made some friends. Tried not to act like such a jackass anymore. I was planning to still play football that fall. But it was weird, the school I went to there only had a pretty average football team. It was the basketball team that was a big deal there. For boys and girls. Both won State that year."

Eric laughs. That was probably the biggest culture shock for him, having teams other than football be a bigger deal. At Pemberton, it had been soccer. Between the boys and the girls teams, at least one of them won state damn near every year. "We ain't in Texas anymore," he comments softly.

"Nope," JD agrees. "I made friends with guys who played basketball, baseball . . . guys who were on the swim team . . . and it was a good semester. I felt a lot better about everything. And then that summer, I was hanging out with my buddy Greg who was the catcher on the baseball team, and we were in my backyard and I was throwing footballs through a tire I rigged up to a tree back there. And I don't know, he made some comment about how they could use an arm like mine now that their star pitcher had just graduated. So just for fun, a few days later, he had me try pitching baseballs to him. And I did okay with it. He thought with some practice I could be really good."

"So you quit football for baseball just like that, huh?" Eric says light-heartedly.

"Actually, no," JD laughs. "Um, I thought maybe baseball would be something fun to do in the off-season. I fully intended to play football in the fall, still. But then it got to be a week before the first practice, and I don't know. I wasn't excited. At all. I knew football would probably be different in Wisconsin, but I was a little worried anyway. Their quarterback that they'd had the year before was going to be a junior as well, and I worried that either he'd beat me out for QB1 and I wouldn't play much anyway, or I'd beat him out and I'd be the new kid that came out of nowhere and stole the position from him. I already did that to Matt and it was the first part of a series of events that made me into a person I didn't like."

"So you just gave it up," Eric muses. "Decided just like that. You didn't want to pursue a college scholarship or your dream of the NFL or any of that."

"That's the thing, Coach." JD looks Eric straight in the eye now. "I started thinking more from there, and realized that yeah . . . it would be cool to make it to the NFL and all, but I didn't need it. It wasn't worth it. Trying so hard for it either made me miserable, or made me turn into someone I didn't want to be. As amazing as it would have been, I realized that it wasn't like, a _dream_ or anything. Thinking about giving it up didn't seem all that bad. And I realized that it was my dad's dream for me for so long that I had a hard time separating what his dreams were from what mine were."

That Eric can certainly understand. His father, while _nothing_ like Joe McCoy, had certainly seemed more upset about him not making to the NFL than he had. Ultimately, his father had been nothing but supportive of him, but there were times when the line between supportive and overbearing had been blurred a little bit. And when it was clear that he wasn't going to the NFL, Eric was okay. It stung a little, but he quickly set his sights on a new career path and he felt liberated. It was nice. But his father had a much harder time letting go of that dream. And Joe McCoy, like his father, was maybe a little bit hurt when his son pushed away all his efforts to help him achieve what he thought the kid's dreams should be. Eric's father certainly hadn't liked it. He'd pushed Eric to keep trying, to find another way in - and had been upset when he hadn't.

That was years ago, though. Now that Eric's a middle-aged adult with a well-progressing career, his father is more of a supportive friend to him than anything else.

So he softens his gaze towards JD. "I understand that."

"Yeah, but a part of me really missed it," JD tells him.

"Of course you did. Even with all that, it's different when you're just out there playing. You're not thinking about all the crap when you're on the field. Not if you're focused on the game."

"Exactly," JD says. "And I missed working hard for something. And I missed being part of a team, even if I didn't do such a great job of being a team player myself. I wanted to get that feeling back on a clean slate, in something where there were no expectations of me at all. So I could just work hard and have fun and that's it, with no pressure."

"So you went out for the baseball team," Eric surmises with a small smile. Football may be what he knows, but he can appreciate that a lot of what he loves about the game and a lot of what he emphasizes in coaching a team can be applied to any sport. Or anything in life. Obviously. That's why football isn't just a game to him - because a lot of what he tries to teach his boys are just good life skills.

JD is nodding with a smile, and Eric knows without hearing the rest of the story that the kid found some sort of peace through baseball. He can see it in his eyes. And he's happy for the kid.

"Yeah," JD says. "My buddy Greg had me throw to him with the baseball coach there. They thought I might be good at pitching, especially because I was known for throwing well in football. So I was kind of a relief pitcher at first. But it turned out I was terrible at it. It was so complicated. Pitching is so technical. Like . . . it's really difficult. It's so much more than just being able to throw hard. I mean, the throwing motion is so weird after being used to throwing a football sixty yards down field. Suddenly you're throwing a tiny round ball sixty and a half feet with as much speed as possible and with different spins all the time. So after the first couple of games they put me in right field. And I did well there. Really well. It turns out, a good football throwing arm translates well into throwing a guy out at home from right field. I made a couple of really good plays over the next few games. And I wasn't the greatest hitter but I was improving all the time, and I had a decent amount of speed on the bases."

Eric knows next to nothing about baseball, but he does know there's a lot more to it than one might expect, just like football. And he sees the way JD lights up just a little talking about the start he got in baseball.

"You still playin'?" he asks. He thinks for a second. JD's probably finishing up college around now. Eric hopes he stuck with it.

JD smiles. "Yeah. I'm definitely still playing. I worked really hard junior and senior year and I got pretty good. Not good enough for a scholarship for it or anything, but I got a walk-on at UW-Milwaukee. Which was kind of ironic, because it meant I was a Panther again."

Eric chuckles. "Well, that's good, though. You still there in Milwaukee then?"

Well, wait. Eric remembers barely registering that the kid had said something right after he got here about living nearby. What did he say? Delaware? Obviously. That's why he's here in Philadelphia. He shakes his head a little at himself.

"No, actually, I graduated this spring. But I did well enough at Milwaukee to get noticed by some pro scouts. And I ended up being a late-round draft pick by the Phillies. So I'm with their single-A team now. The Lakewood BlueClaws, in Lakewood, New Jersey."

Eric smiles. "Really? Well, good for you, JD. That's great. You gonna be in the Majors here?"

JD, with a wide smile, shakes his head. "I don't know, Coach. I don't think I'm superstar material. Maybe if I'd been playing my whole life I would have had time to get that good, but I don't know. They've been working me out in the infield too a little bit, so my best bet is to be a utility player. Which means I would know how to play almost every position and I would be kind of a backup to any of the main starters who need a day off or get hurt or something. But I'm not making the same mistake that I did with football. I'm not expecting anything. The way I see it, right now I'm making a respectable living playing a sport I love. And that's what it's supposed to be about, right? Doing something because I love it?"

Eric nods. "Absolutely." That absolutely _is_ what it's supposed to be about. It's why he coaches football, after all. He could put up with all that crap in Dillon, because he _loves_ coaching. He moved to Philadelphia because he would do anything for Tami, but it was coaching football that allowed him to feel comfortable here. It was doing what he loved _without_ the crap those first couple of years at Pemberton that allowed him to thrive here and got him a job coaching with a D-1 university. And everyone knows he's mostly likely to be named head coach after the current one retires year after next.

And his love for coaching is what made East Dillon so rewarding. Tami loves to use that experience as an example of how good he is at it. Eric knows he's only as good at it as he is because he loves it. And because one of his priorities with coaching is to cultivate a love for playing the game in his players and the ability to focus on the things that matter. Clear eyes and full hearts and all that.

JD's father, however, had a different strategy for his son's success in football. He thought working the kid relentlessly to improve was the way to do it. It was a very different way of thinking than Eric's. And all those years ago, while Eric feared that JD's love for playing the game would slowly be squeezed out of him. In a way, it came to pass; Eric sees that JD never stopped loving football altogether, but it's been tainted for him. But as soon as JD arrived at the point of his story where he described his start in baseball, Eric saw the way he lit up. The kid clearly loves baseball too. Except with baseball, there's never been anything to ruin it for him. And Eric hopes there never will be.

"Can you I ask you something?" Eric asks. His next question, he knows, is probably a little bit touchy.

JD nods, his brow furrowing.

"How are things with you and your dad now?" Eric continues cautiously.

JD sighs. "Well, I don't know. I guess they're pretty much non-existent. He calls me on my birthday and on Christmas every year, probably to make himself feel better. But other than that, we don't talk much. He was really upset when I quit football. He thinks baseball is a stupid waste of time. So I don't know. That sucks, but at least I have my mom. She's been really supportive."

"Yeah? Good. How's she doing?" Eric is sorry to hear that JD no longer has a relationship with his father. He's sorry to hear that Joe didn't support JD in his newfound career path. He doesn't know how that feels to the extent that JD does. He's grateful that his father is ultimately supportive of him. But with Joe and JD, it's a shame. Kids should have the support of his father, but all too often, they don't.

JD smiles again. "She's doing good. She still lives in Madison, and she got remarried last year. My new stepdad is cool, I guess. I don't know him that well, but he's nice to my mom and he's nice to me so that's all that really matters."

"Well that's good, then. I'm glad your mom is happy."

"Me too," JD says. "The split with my dad was definitely for the better for her. And I guess for me too."

Eric smiles a little, looking down at his now empty water glass.

JD is peering around him towards the stove. "Well, I should go. We have a game tonight, and I gotta get there for BP." He must be looking at the clock, Eric realizes.

"BP?" Eric asks.

"Batting practice," says JD. The kid stands up, holding his empty glass, unsure of what to do with it. Eric holds a hand out with a _come here_ gesture, silently asking JD to hand the glass over to him.

He sets the glass down right back on the counter next to his. "Well. Thanks for comin' by, JD. It was good to see you. You'll get me tickets to a game sometime, yeah?"

JD laughs. "Yeah, sure, Coach."

Eric laughs, too. He's never been to a baseball game in his life. Well, no, he vaguely remembers his grandfather taking him to a Texas Rangers game once when he was a little kid. So the last time he went to any type of baseball game was probably over 40 years ago.

He nods, though, and extends a hand towards JD, which the kid accepts.

Eric doesn't let go of JD's hand right away. "Hey," he says, "You've done good. I'm glad to see you're doin' something you love. Even though it's not football." He adds that last part jokingly, with a small smile.

JD smiles again. "Me too, Coach. And it's good to see you're doing well, too. Coaching at a Division I university and all. That's awesome."

Eric picks up both empty glasses and nods. It is definitely awesome to be doing something you love, especially when those you love are supporting you.

And it's even more awesome when at the same time, you're also supporting someone you love while they're doing something _they_ love. Tami's doing what she loves. They're in an incredibly good place as a couple, and as a family. Eric smiles a little privately to himself. Julie's also doing great in Chicago with Matt. And Gracie as well - she just finished second grade and was doing very well. She's incredibly smart, just like her mother and her sister.

The glasses are in the sink now. Eric turns around towards JD and nods again.

"Well all right then," he says. "You have a good game tonight, JD."

"Thanks, Coach." After they make their way through the dining room and approach the front door in the foyer just to the side of the dining room window, JD stops again and turns to face Eric. "Hey Coach?"

Eric raises his gaze to meet JD's expectantly, silently acknowledging the younger man's address.

"Thank you," JD continues. Eric's confused; he's not sure what he's done that the kid should be thanking him for. "The first time I ever really heard about playing for the love of the game all those years ago. After playing for you I don't think I ever would have just been truly satisfied playing football because I was supposed to. So then I had to go out and find something that _I_ love. I don't think I'd be having the time of my life playing baseball right now if we'd never moved to Dillon and crossed paths with you."

"Well that's not something I ever thought anyone would tell me, that they're glad to be playing baseball because of me," Eric jokes. "But nah. You didn't need me for that, JD. You would have figured that one out on your own one way or the other, I'm sure of that."

JD looks down at the tile floor of the foyer. "Well, I don't know. But also, thanks for letting me come in here and vent, or whatever that was. Sorry." The kid cringes.

"That's all right, son, you really don't have to be apologizin' to me for anything." He reaches his hand out once again to shake the kid's hand, which JD accepts. "Don't be a stranger now, yeah?"

"For sure," JD smiles. "I'll see you later, Coach. Thanks again."

With that, Eric opens the door for JD. He watches as the young man walks down the walk towards the driveway, in the direction of a modest blue sedan parked along the curb. Eric chuckles to himself a little, shutting the door, once again alone in his home.

He wanders back to the kitchen to put their water glasses in the dishwasher. As he does so, his back is to the window and he can feel the heat on his back from the sunlight. Maybe the kid's onto something. He's not sure if he'd be exactly where he is if the McCoys had never come around. He doesn't try to think about it too hard - Eric has never been a guy for _what-ifs_ \- but he realizes that Joe McCoy getting him fired and exiling him to East Dillon did have a profound effect on his career as a coach. The challenge and the reward of his time in East Dillon only strengthened his love for coaching; it reminded of him of what it was about it that fulfilled him. He carried that with him to Philadelphia, and it allowed him to build up his Pemberton team up much the same way. In turn, he garnered attention from Temple.

Along with the glasses, Eric puts the bowl and spoon in there from Gracie's breakfast cereal that morning. The dishwasher is full now, so he reaches under the sink for the dish soap. Of course, maybe his coaching career would have reached the same point anyway without the McCoys. Hell if he knows. That's why he doesn't play the _what-if_ game. He is where he is.

They're out of soap. Eric should go buy some. They probably need milk, too.

He is where he is. And he loves where he is and who he's with while he's there. It all worked out - despite the skepticism he'd harbored over Philadelphia for quite a long time. He is currently working his way through the coaching ranks at a D-1 university, and he didn't even have to worry about uprooting his family for his dream job; he didn't have to uproot Tami from her dream job. It's what they'd been working for their whole lives - his dream job, and her dream job, right there in the same city. And Tami, who's always been concerned about finding their "dream house", finally had the beautiful home she's always wanted (even though it's old and has its quirks). Eric just never pictured that happening in Philadelphia of all places. But hey, he loves Temple and they treat him well. And Tami loves Braemore and they treat her well.

He goes to the side of the refrigerator where the small whiteboard is that they've lugged around from house to house over the years to write "dish soap" and "milk" on it, the way they've always done when they've run out of something. It's been nearly an hour since he came in to take a quick water break, so Eric decides it's probably time to go back outside. He's only got one flower bed left to weed, and then he'll probably mow the lawn after that.

It's always just interesting to Eric how he's had the experiences he's had and it all lead him here some way or another, and the people he's crossed paths with along the way played a part somehow. And he's played a part in their stories. It's possible that nobody he's ever known is irrelevant.

But hell. All Eric really knows is that he can't wait until the season begins again and he's back out there coaching football. It's what he loves, plain and simple. And he can't wait to see where it takes him next.

 _End_

* * *

Note: The part JD mentions above where his father came into the locker room during the state game was pulled from a deleted scene from the season 3 DVD extras. You should check it out if you haven't already. It completely changed the way I viewed the whole McCoy storyline, and in my opinion it's tragic that they took that scene out.


End file.
